


Saints On High Seas

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Boats and Ships, Cussing, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Pirates, Play Fighting, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a thought I was kicking around after listening to a bunch of sea shanties. Thought this would be an interesting alternative to all the crossovers and incest stories out there.</p><p>Want to know what you guys think of it before I decide to continue or not. It's all up to you guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saints On High Seas

_What will we do with a drunken sailor?_  
What will we do with a drunken sailor?  
What will we do with a drunken sailor?  
Early in the morning!  


__  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Early in the morning!

Shave his belly with a rusty razor,  
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,  
Shave his belly with a rusty razor,  
Early in the morning!

Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Early in the morning!

Put him in a long boat till his sober,  
Put him in a long boat till his sober,  
Put him in a long boat till his sober,  
Early in the morning!

Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Early in the morning!

Stick him in a barrel with a hosepipe on him,  
Stick him in a barrel with a hosepipe on him,  
Stick him in a barrel with a hosepipe on him,  
Early in the morning!

Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Early in the morning!

Put him in the bed with the captains daughter,  
Put him in the bed with the captains daughter,  
Put him in the bed with the captains daughter,  
Early in the morning!

Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Early in the morning!

That’s what we do with a drunken sailor,  
That’s what we do with a drunken sailor,  
That’s what we do with a drunken sailor,  
Early in the morning!

Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Way hay and up she rises,  
Early in the morning!

 

 

   The sailors of the ship sung as they raised the anchor. Their voices cheery for the early morning departure from the bay. Their feet tapping against the warm boards of the deck to the chorus lines as a few appeared to dance from one task to the next with great enthusiasm. A few other sailors appeared to still be recovering from their night long consumption of alcohol from the port tavern. The men had stopped for a few days for supplies and celebration for another successful run from one island to the next without incident. They partied the night from Tavern to shoreline gathered around a bonfire on the beach filling their bellies with food and drink. They hooted and hollered and many continued their parting until departure while others were ready for quiet drifting on the waves.

        Two such sailors danced joyously between tasks and as they past one another, they would hook arms and trot in a circle with long drunken steps and raucous banter. Releasing each other from their swift spinning and launch to the far sides of the deck where the canons sat, securely tied in place. They would hang over the sides of the ship, staring down at the waves before twisting around to launch across the deck once more. They switched from one task of pulling anchor and securing it to releasing the masts to full to catch the rising wind then jumped from that task to fooling about on deck, running into each other foolishly with the rising waves and shifting roll of the ship. Of course these two men were well experienced and could easily hold their footing steady even in the worst storm but it wasn't as fun. As they allowed their bodies to tumble into each other, they started in on another shanty.

The smartest clipper you can find is,  
 _Ho eh, ho ah, are you most done?_  
Shes the Margaret Evans on a blue sky line!  
 _Clear away the track and let the bulgine run._

_To my aye rig a jig in a junting gun,  
Ho eh, ho ah, are you most done?  
With Eliza Lee all on my knee,  
Clear away the track and let the bulgine run._

Oh the Margaret Evans on the blue star line,  
 _Ho eh, ho ah, are you most done?_  
Shes never a day behind the time,  
 _Clear away the track and let the bulg-_

 

        "MacManus!" A voice hollered from deep below deck. The two sailors stopped mid shanty and twisted their heads to the hatch as a hulking form emerged, not too happily.  The two sailors, one with light brown hair cut raggedly with a blade left in soft spikes, with light blue eyes and the other with the same captivating blue eyes but with dark brown hair smoothed down but starting to turn shaggy looked up with mischievous grins, both responding with playful tones.

        "Aye." They both wore rosary's hanging from their necks, settled comfortably at the base of their sternum hanging over their worn black tunics and long black linen coats that draped down, hiding the pistols that hung on their hips beside their cutlasses.  They had the usual black trousers, theirs were frayed at the ends of their pant legs, the frays hidden well, tucked into their boots. The two sailors had tattoos as well, but none like their shipmates. These men had matching crosses on their forearms. A reminder of their homeland of Ireland as well as the virgin Mary tattooed on their necks. A few of their shipmates thought it was strange but most knew better then to speak up about it. The very small few who did ended up taking a severe beaten.  The men found this was a touchy subject for them. Most sailors were superstitious and didn't have much in the way of religion. Many of them abandoned their faith when they started on the seas. Not because of persecution but because they had seen things that they believed only existed in a godless world. They abandoned their faith because the horrors they witnessed, because if there were a god, these horrors wouldn't be so. But these two sailors, these brothers proved their faith was stronger then the fury of the wind and the angry waves of the ocean. As well as defying most men's expectations and remaining cheery and bright even in the most hopeless situations. Usually singing or playing pranks to lighten the mood. One such habit that has led to the angry hulking form that has now climbed it's way out of the hold and into the rays of the morning sun, squinting angrily at the two MacManus brothers.

        "What's the problem, Ivan?" The lighter haired irishman asked innocently.

        "You are the problem." The large man spit out with a thick russian accent. Ivan was one of a few men they had picked up at a port. Their ship had sailed it's final run before a storm pulled it apart and left them without work on a small trade island in the middle of nowhere. With Ivan was one other russian brute known as Demetri. Demetri at the time being was recovering from too much drink, avoiding the sunlight and spending time helping situate the new cargo down below. Ivan was barechested, wearing only his trousers, tied in place with a red sash around his waist and a leather belt holding his cutlass on his hip.

        "Come on comrade, it's all in good fun." The dark haired irishman explained, leaning against his brother.

        "The fun ends now. I'm sick of you fucking Paddy's." Ivan growled.

        " _Vy peresekli liniyu tovarishcha._ "  The dark haired irishman spoke quickly in russian.  Ivan looked taken aback before the irishman swung on him. Hitting him deacd center in his chest. The russian gasped for air as the wind got knocked out of him, he doubled over, craning his head up to look at the dark haired irishman before cursing in russian and plowing head first into his form. Knocking the irishman back into the side of the ship.

        The light haired irishman called out, stepping forward to help. "Murph!" But the light haired irishman, Murphy just shook his head before slamming a fist into the side of Ivan's skull. Ivan leaned to the side for a few seconds, disoriented momentarily giving Murphy enough time to slip to the side and slam his knee up into the russian's gut. The russian grunted in response. Murphy stepped back, allowing the russian to collect himself, to see if he wanted to continue the fight. Behind him he heard a scuffle of boots scraping against the deck and a thud. He turned around in time to find Demetri had the light haired irishman backed against the main mast.

        "Connor!" Murphy called out but his attention quickly switched from his brother's well being to the hulking presence breathing down his neck behind him. He turned in time to catch the russian's fist with his jaw and was knocked to the floor. At this point the entire crew had gathered around to cheer on the fight, encouraging it further. Many of the men placing bets on who would win. Murphy recovered from the hit quickly and made for the russian's legs, sweeping them out at their weak points and knocking him to the ground. A sailor nearby held a bottle in his hands, nearly empty as he tipped it back to finish it, Murphy took the bottle from his grasp, tipped it back and took the last swig before bashing it down on the head of the russian. Murphy watched as the russian's eyes rolled back and his body slumped against the boards of the deck.  He turned his attention back to his brother, finding Connor had quickly turned the tables on Demetri and was using the russian's sensitivity to his advantage. Catching the light with his cutlass just right and reflecting it into the russian's eyes in order to dodge and weave about, toying with the hungover man and throwing punches here and there at his back and his ribcage. Murphy chuckled ad took up position with the other sailors to watch the show. With a quick glance about, he found now almost all the men gathered were betting on Connor to win.

        The fun was short lived when a voice came from the crows nest and all the men tensed, turning their heads. "Man -O-War off the starboard bow." Both Connor and Demetri froze in mid punch and looked just as the Man-O-War sailed from behind a patch of land with large rock formations on it. Murphy bet it was hiding, waiting to attack the trade ships that sail these waters between ports. The men scrambled to their battle stations at the Man-O-War opened fire on their vessel.

        Murphy ran to Connor's side as they manned the canons, expecting to hear orders from their captain. Murphy glanced to the Captain's Quarters to find one of the men come running out of it. "Captain's dead!"

        A barrage of canon balls blasts into the side of the ships, a few hitting the cabin and one wounding the mast nearest the cabin sending large splintered chunks of wood into the air. Connor raised his arms to shield his face, standing between the exploding wood and his brother. "Where's the first mate?" Connor questioned quickly as Murphy set off the canon then waited as another sailor reset the canon.

        The sailor switched his gaze between Connor and the Man-O-War. "Knocked overboard." Connor looked at the sailor in awe then turned to his brother, words of concern on his lips, quickly silenced and twisted into the screaming of a name, blocked out by the sounds of another round of canon balls exploding from both sides. Connor lunged for his brother, gripping him hard as the boards beneath their feet were blown out from under them, knocking both irishmen into the swirling waters below. Their bodies enveloped by the normally warm waters and pulled deeper into their cold grasp. The world above swept away in the chaos of explosions and debris as they were pulled deeper into the darkening waters.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Paddy - Duragatory slur used against the irish back in the day. 
> 
> Vy peresekli liniyu tovarishcha - You've crossed the line comrade.
> 
>  
> 
> Leave me a comment as to if you like it or not and if I should continue.


End file.
